


Broken Trust

by loxleyprince



Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loxleyprince/pseuds/loxleyprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Garrison can't trust Actor any more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Trust

 

“The prisoner has proven to be most stubborn.”

The SS Major spoke over his shoulder to the Gestapo official who was following him along the corridor towards the cells. “He was shot in the leg before he was captured. Naturally, he was denied medical attention until such time as he cooperated with us.”

“And has he?” the Gestapo officer enquired mildly.

“No.” The word was spoken with unconcealed frustration. “Scream? Yes. Cooperate? No.”

The Gestapo officer smiled, a cold smile that did not reach his eyes. “Name, rank and serial number only.”

“Yes,” gritted the Major. “These Americans, like the English, with their out-dated notions of duty and honour.” Turning again, he regarded the third member of their party. “Hauptsturmführer Spiegler does not share our opinion, do you Spiegler?”

The younger man bore the scrutiny of his superior without flinching. “He is the enemy, Sturmbannführer, but he is also a brave man.”

Major Weissing dismissed the comment with a snort. Turning back to the Gestapo man he said, “Spiegler would like to make the army his career but he is surprisingly soft where our uncooperative spy is concerned. He wanted his wound treated.”

“The Geneva Convention…” began the young captain.

“Does not apply to spies!” Weissing interrupted.

“You have his name, rank and serial number, Sturmbannführer,” Spiegler countered. “He is as much a soldier as we are, sir.”

“Enough!” snapped Weissing. “Were it not for your father, boy, I would have you up on charges of insubordination!”

Spiegler dropped his gaze.

Turning back to the Gestapo officer, Weissing continued his narrative. “The prisoner extracted the bullet himself, prising a piece of metal from the bed in his cell to use as a makeshift knife. It was fortunate that he passed out afterwards or we would not have found the knife.”

“How very resourceful,” the Gestapo agent commented drily.

Spiegler’s stomach churned at the thought.

An unconcerned Weissing continued. “After that, I gave orders that he be chained to the bed. I interrogate him in the cell now because he cannot walk, the wound is too badly infected. I informed him yesterday that gangrene had set in. I told him it was too late to save his leg, but we could still save his life. All he had to do was co-operate. All he had to do was give me the names of his contacts and tell me what he had removed from the plane.“ He came to an abrupt halt and swung round to face the Gestapo officer. “Do you know what he did?”

The secret serviceman smiled. “I imagine that he laughed.”

Weissing was astonished. “How could you possibly have known that?” He threw a suspicious glance at Spiegler. The junior officer sensibly kept his gaze firmly fixed on a point on the wall over the Major’s shoulder.

“Because, as you have already realised, he is a man of duty, a man of honour. He has endured three days of agony to protect his secrets and buy time for his confederates to escape. That takes courage and a quite formidable strength of will. I do not think such a man would want to live as a cripple. I think he would prefer to die.” The Gestapo official looked the shorter man directly in the eyes, his gaze penetrating. “You thought that, by telling him about the gangrene, you would break his spirit and force him to betray his country and his contacts in order to live. Instead, you merely gave him the wherewithal to continue to defy you. Now he knows that he need only endure for a little while longer and then death will set him free.” His eyes narrowed. “It is good that you informed us of his presence, Sturmbannführer. Let us hope that you have not been so brutal with him that he dies before giving us the information we are so very … eager…to have.”

The words were spoken with quiet menace. Weissing fought the urge to shiver and was immensely grateful that they had reached their destination. Stopping in front of a cell door, he gestured to Spiegler who stepped forward and unlocked it, then stepped inside. The other men followed him; the Major, the Gestapo officer and the Gestapo officer’s aide.

The windowless, airless room contained a single piece of furniture, a bed that had been set in the centre of the cell. Manacled hand and foot to the metal bedstead was the prisoner, clad only in vest and shorts. Both the man’s clothes and the thin pallet on which he lay were soaked through with water.

“I had the prisoner hosed down before you arrived,” Weissing said without embarrassment. The odour of urine, excrement and vomit still hung in the air.

“My God,” murmured Spiegler, his words audible only to the Gestapo official’s aide who, apparently inured to such suffering, made no comment.

The prisoner’s face was turned away from the men, his breathing reduced to laboured pants, his body shivering uncontrollably. Around his right thigh was tied the remnants of a shirt, now stained dark with blood. Angry red streaks extended beyond the makeshift bandage, evidence of the extent of the infection in the wound concealed beneath. The entire leg was mottled with bruising and cigarette burns.

Spiegler felt the bile rise in his throat.

Unencumbered by the sensitivities of his compatriot, Weissing strode over to the bed. Drawing on his leather gloves, he bent over the prisoner and grasped his chin, turning the man’s head towards his own. The prisoner’s eyes flickered open, took several seconds to focus on the Major, and then closed again.

“So, what have you to say for yourself today, hmm? What were you sent to retrieve from the aircraft?” Weissing laid his other hand on top of the soiled bandage, his intention clear.

The prisoner’s eyes flickered open and fixed on the Major. The briefest of smiles crossed the prisoner’s face and in a quiet, exhausted voice he breathed,

“Garrison, Lieutenant. 9263…”

Weissing lent heavily on the prisoner’s thigh, digging his fingers deeply into the inflamed flesh. The prisoner strained against his bonds, biting his lip until blood ran in a thin trickle down his chin. A whimper of pain escaped between his tightly-clenched teeth. Weissing removed his hand from the prisoner’s thigh. The American’s head rolled to one side, his face contorted in agony, and for long, pain-racked moments he writhed on the sodden cot. At length, he continued.

“926314.”

The prisoner’s eyes opened again. Bright with fever and a defiant flare, they fixed unerringly on Weissing and waited for the punishment that this latest resistance had provoked. The major raised a fist to strike the prisoner’s wounded leg, only to have his wrist captured in a vice-like grip by the Gestapo official.

“That will not be necessary,” the man said softly. “There are more refined and efficient methods to extract information in such circumstances.” Smiling, he released his grip on Weissing’s arm. Turning his back on the SS officer, he called to his aide.

“Schultz?”

The fourth member of the party stepped forward and opened the briefcase that he had been carrying. The Gestapo official extracted a hypodermic syringe and serum bottle from it. As he prepared the injection, his aide tied a cord around the prisoner’s bicep and then stepped back. Hitching a hip onto the side of the cot and seemingly oblivious to its sodden condition, the senior Gestapo man sharply tapped the inside of the prisoner’s elbow to raise the vein before administering the contents of the syringe with practised ease.

At the prick of the needle the prisoner’s eyes flew open and he looked into the face of the Gestapo agent. His face registered confusion and then panic. “No!” he moaned and thrashed desperately on the cot. The Gestapo man grasped his shoulders almost gently and held him down on the thin pallet. “Sssh, sssh,” the official said soothingly. “Do not fight this. You are so tired, in so much pain. Sleep now. You betray no one by sleeping.”

The prisoner’s resistance was short-lived, his struggles rapidly exhausting his meagre reserves of strength. Unable to fight any longer, his head lolled against the thin mattress as the drug stole both his pain and his resolve.

“Good. That is good,” crooned the Gestapo agent. “Sleep now.” He took the prisoner’s pulse before turning to address the other men in the room. “Now we must wait for the drug to take effect. It should not take long, given his already weakened state. This truth serum is new, but extremely powerful. I have no doubt that …”

Whatever the man had been about to say next was abruptly cut off as the prisoner convulsed on the bed, the muscles of his body spasming uncontrollably. Once again the Gestapo officer grasped his shoulders and held him down, this time needing to apply considerably more effort to the task than before. Twisting to face Weissing he called, “He’s having a seizure! Where is the nearest medical facility?” Not waiting for an answer he drew a handkerchief from his pocket and folded it into a wad before pressing it between the prisoner’s teeth. “Don’t let him bite his tongue,” he instructed his aide before relinquishing hold of the makeshift gag to the other man. Swinging back to face Weissing, he received the answer to his question.

“There is a private hospital seven kilometres from here,” Weissing assured him before adding, maliciously, “Was that supposed to happen?”

The Gestapo interrogator threw him a look that was chilling in its intensity. “This is a known, albeit infrequent, side-effect of the truth serum. Provided he is given appropriate medical treatment quickly, his condition can be stabilised and the drug will still be effective.”

“And if not?” Weissing wanted to know.

“Then he will die and we will never know what was on that plane that was so important to the Allies. Get an ambulance, immediately!”

Weissing turned to obey.

“No – Wait! Have my car brought round! We’ll take him in that. Can you give Schultz directions?”

“I’ll go with you,” volunteered Spiegler. “I know the way”.

The Gestapo official nodded curtly. Weissing barked orders to one of his guards to fetch the secret policeman’s car and the private took off at a run. The Gestapo man administered another injection to the now-unconscious prisoner and then barked out orders. “Bring him! And fetch blankets to cover him with!”

Weissing hurried to release the prisoner from the manacles that shackled him to the bed frame. Surrendering the man to two of his guards, he trailed them as they carried the prisoner through the building and placed him on the back seat of a sedan. Spiegler approached holding two blankets which he placed over the unmoving body.

The Gestapo interrogator climbed into the back of the car and felt again for the prisoner’s pulse. “We’re losing him,” he muttered. “Drive!”

Schultz jumped into the driver’s seat and Spiegler climbed in on the passenger-side. The car sped off amidst a hail of flying gravel.

Weissing breathed a shaky sigh of relief at their departure before hurrying to his office to file an official report. He wanted there to be no doubt that the prisoner’s condition had deteriorated _after_ the Gestapo agent had administered the truth serum. He had no intention of being held responsible for the loss of so valuable a prisoner.

***

The car flew along the narrow country roads. At two checkpoints, Spiegler shouted orders to the guards to let them through. Well-known to the men, he was obeyed without question, yet even so, the Gestapo official was dissatisfied with the delays. “Are there many more of these checkpoints?” he asked tersely.

“No sir,” Spiegler assured him. “That was the last one on this road for almost ten kilometres. We will be at the hospital in less than two.”

“Excellent,” replied the Gestapo man and pistol-whipped Spiegler into unconsciousness.

Schultz slewed the car to a halt then ran round to the passenger side to assist his Gestapo colleague in dragging the unfortunate Spiegler into the undergrowth where they left him, bound and gagged. Had it been Weissing who had accompanied them, they would have left a corpse. Racing back to the car, they draped one of the blankets on the floor and carefully laid the prisoner on it before covering him with the second blanket. With the door shut, and in the dark, no one outside the car would be able to see him.

Schultz climbed back into the driver’s seat and fired the engine into life. Meeting the eyes of his colleague in the mirror, the Gestapo agent asked his driver “Do you remember the route, Chief?”

The Indian nodded once, put the car into gear and set it into motion.

Kneeling on the floor beside the stricken American’s fevered body, Actor gently stroked Garrison’s ashen cheek and murmured,

“Oh, my love, how did we come to this?”  
  


**Four months earlier**

 

“You cannot think to do this!” Actor’s voice was incredulous. “You know he will kill you and probably the hostages as well! It is suicide!”

In marked contrast to the indignation in his second’s tone, Garrison’s voice was soft and controlled. “I know he’ll kill them if I do nothing, Actor.” Seeing the other man was unconvinced, he pressed on. “I need you to get the others back home. You know the escape route and where to meet the sub.”

“No.”

“Actor, please. I need you to back me on this. It’s going to be hard enough selling this to the others. I need your support.”

“I said, no.”

“I have to do this.” Garrison put a hand on Actor’s shoulder. The con man shrugged it off angrily. “I have no choice.”

“There are always choices,” Actor retorted coldly. “We completed the mission and destroyed the radar installation. No-one could have foreseen that Müller would take civilian hostages and demand that the men responsible surrender or he would shoot the hostages.”

“Actor, there are women and children amongst those hostages. I can’t let them die because of what we did.”

The conman fought to keep the frustration from his voice. “It was not your decision to make war on women and children. If, God forbid, Müller executes them, it will not be your fault, it will be his. His choice. His finger on the trigger. You cannot hold yourself responsible for this. It is a tragedy of war and not one of your making.” He tried another tack. “Your death will not ensure their safety.”

“I know they’ll die if I do nothing,” Garrison countered.

Still determined to dissuade the American from his intended course of action, Actor continued. "What about all the lives this mission will save? The hundreds, maybe thousands, of airmen whose lives will be spared in the days ahead because the radar installation will be inoperable?”

Garrison shook his head sadly. “It’s not the same. You can’t trade their lives against the hostages.”

Actor’s expression was cold and shuttered. “Why not? Is that not precisely what you intend to do now? To trade your life for the lives of the hostages?”

“Actor, please!”

“And what of the team?” Actor continued, as though the other man had not spoken. “What will happen to us when we return to England without you? Have you thought about that?”

“Edwards won’t send you back to prison. You’re far too useful to him. He’ll assign you a new officer. He’ll keep you together.” Of that, Garrison was certain.

Actor was not so readily convinced. “We are only effective as a team because of how you lead us. The team revolves around you. I doubt the others would want to work with another officer. I am sure that Chief could not. Without you, we will revert to just being a disparate group of cons. The Army will have no further use for us and we will be sent back to prison. Is that what you want for us?” Actor focused on holding on to the anger – it was the only thing keeping the despair from his voice.

_I cannot lose you._

Garrison sighed. “You know that’s not true. And you know that I don’t.” Turning, he started to walk back towards where the rest of his team were waiting. Chief had already noticed their altercation, although he did not yet know the cause, and was watching both men closely. “We’re out of time. I’m going to talk to the others.”

“What about us?”

Garrison slammed to a halt at the softly spoken words. “Oh God, Actor, don’t.” The words were barely a whisper. Garrison turned back to look at his lover. Actor was standing with eyes downcast, body half turned away from the other man. He looked up and Garrison saw the pain and anguish in his eyes.

“I have only just found you,” the handsome Italian said softly. “I do not want to lose you.”

The same emotions were mirrored in Garrison’s eyes. He walked over to the other man, started to raise a hand to caress his cheek to reassure him, then remembered that they were not unobserved and dropped it back to his side. “I don’t want to leave you either, but I couldn’t live with myself if I don’t try and save those people.”

“Then let us save them together!” Actor was desperate now. “Think of a plan! We’ve broken people out of prison before; we can break out the hostages.”

Garrison shook his head sadly. “If we had more time, maybe. But we’ve got less than an hour and they’re too well guarded.”

Actor clenched his eyes shut in frustration.

“Please, Actor.” Garrison tried again. “If you love me, help me do this.”

“You know that I do.” Actor's voice was tight with reproof.

“Then help me now.”

“Let me go with you.” The Italian was all but out of ideas. If he could not save Craig, he could at least die by his side.

Again, Garrison shook his head. “No. I need to know you’ll take care of the others.” Actor’s expression was wretched. Sensing the other man wavering, Garrison pressed home his advantage. “Chief will need help getting over this. So will Goniff and Casino, but it’s Chief I worry about the most. He’s got no one but the team. I need to know you’ll be there for him. I need you to promise you’ll watch out for all of them, for me. Will you do that?” Seeing the other man hesitate, he said again, quietly, “Please?”

“I promise.”

The words were dragged reluctantly from the suave Italian, barely audible. Actor spun around and walked back to where the other Gorillas were waiting with members of the local resistance group. Hating the corner he had backed his lover into, the choice he had forced him to make, Garrison fought the pain constricting his chest and then followed.

***

Garrison, Actor and the resistance leader they knew only as Francois drove back towards the little town in Francois’ truck. Casino and Goniff had been left at the camp with an unconscious Chief who, predictably, had refused to go along with Garrison’s plan. Actor had knocked him out with a blow to the back of his head with a rifle butt. Pulling the car up beside a thick hedge overshadowed by a stand of chestnut trees, Francois turned to his passengers and spoke. “This is as close as I can drive you without arousing suspicion. The building where Major Müller has his headquarters is at the end of the second street on the right. You will see the flags.”

Actor opened the door of the cab and climbed out. Francois held his hand out to Garrison, who shook it firmly. “Good luck, Lieutenant. You are a very brave man.”

Garrison got out of the cab and looked over to where Actor stood in the shadow of the chestnut trees, his back towards the truck, hands thrust into his pockets. The Italian had not spoken at all during the drive from the camp. Garrison had been unable and, if he was honest, unwilling to make him stay behind with the rest of the team. Every second they had together now was precious. There was so much he wanted to say to the man. Garrison glanced at his watch. There was still time. He walked over to his second and stood behind him, so close that their bodies were almost touching.

“I love you,” he said softly, his words blowing against the back of Actor’s neck. “More than life.”

“Not as much as their lives, apparently.” Actor’s voice was cold and harsh.

“I’d stay with you if I could,” Garrison replied.

Actor swung around and glared at his lover, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Then come back with me. Live for me. Grow old with me.” His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “I beg you, Craig, do not do this.”

Garrison pulled him into a fierce embrace. At first, Actor did not respond, his back stiff, the muscles of his body tense, but then his arms went around the younger man and crushed him to his body. Garrison pressed his face hard against Actor’s shoulder, breathed in the scent of his lover’s body for the last time, and whispered, “Live for both of us, Vittorio. You were all I ever wanted and more than I ever thought I'd have.”

“Caro,” the handsome Italian breathed against his cheek, his grip on the younger man tightening.

Garrison felt the needles enter the muscles of his back and tried to draw away, but Actor’s grip was relentless. “What have you done?” Even as he asked the question, Garrison knew the answer, could already feel the lassitude stealing over his body. He’d experienced the feeling too many times in the past not to know what was causing it.

“What I had to,” came the con man’s pained reply as he dropped the empty morphine syrettes onto the ground and held his lover’s body tightly against his own. As Garrison’s struggles weakened, he murmured, “Forgive me.” Actor gazed into his lover’s eyes then looked away, unable to bear the anger and the shock of betrayal there.

“No,” Garrison breathed, before slumping limply against Actor’s body.

For long moments Actor held him to his chest, and when he was sure that he was unconscious, he carefully lifted him into his arms and walked back to the truck.

***

Garrison regained consciousness many hours later to find a concerned Actor watching over him.

“Welcome back,” the con man said softly.

Garrison did not reply. He looked around, took in his surroundings. The other members of the team were seated around or lying on bunks in the small room. No one made eye contact and no one spoke. _On the sub_ , Garrison realised. He looked back at Actor and spoke just two words.

“The hostages?”

Actor shook his head sadly.

Garrison rolled away to face the bulkhead, his back to Actor, and did not speak again.

Actor’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes in despair. He had known it would be like this, but at least Craig was alive. That would have to be enough.

***

“A transfer!!” Casino’s voice was incredulous. He got up from the chair in which he had been contemplating an old copy of "The Racing Post" and walked over to the Italian’s side.

“A transfer where?” asked an equally shocked Goniff, discarding his game of Solitaire and coming to stand next to Casino.

“To another Special Operations unit.”

“Why?” questioned Casino, starting to pace. Actor sighed. “You know why,” he replied softly.

“What? You and the Warden can’t work together after the stunt you pulled to save his neck?”

“Something like that,” Actor said dismissively. The pain of the decision was still too fresh for him to be able to talk about it, even with these men.

“C’mon – you know you can wrap the Warden around your little finger. Spin him a line! Tell him you’re very, very sorry and it won’t happen again.”

Actor winced at the irony of the suggestion and Casino’s execrable timing for Garrison chose that precise moment to walk into the common room.

“That won’t work again, Casino. I can’t trust Actor to follow my orders and that means he’s off the team,” Garrison said shortly. Although the words were quietly spoken, there was an edge to the Warden’s voice that more than hinted at the anger that had prompted the decision.

“But Warden…” began Goniff.

“But nothing!” finished Garrison harshly. He glared the little thief into silence, albeit only temporarily. Moving on to a less incendiary topic, a subdued Goniff asked, “When do you go?”

Actor looked at Garrison, who answered for him. “Tomorrow. His replacement arrives on Friday.”

“Do you know who that will be, Lieutenant?” Actor asked quietly.

Garrison didn’t even look at him. “That’s not your concern.”

From his position by one of the windows, Chief spoke up. “This ain’t fair, Warden. Actor only did what we all wanted to.”

“The difference being he did it and the rest of you didn’t.” Garrison met the young Indian’s gaze. “This isn’t a democracy and this decision isn’t up for debate. This is my team and I say who’s in it.”

“Ain’t fair, Warden.” Chief reiterated. It was Garrison who looked away first. Turning to face his erstwhile second he said, “Transport will be round at 0900 hours to collect you. Make sure you’re packed and ready to go.” With that Garrison spun around and walked out of the room.

Actor stared at the carpet, struggling to compose himself. He walked over to his favourite armchair and retrieved his pipe from the side table next to it, his back to Casino and Goniff. The other members of the team regarded him sadly. They’d never seen the confident Italian so subdued and it shocked them. That he would be leaving the team saddened and appalled them.

“They gonna let you write to us?” Casino asked gently.

“I do not know,” Actor replied. “I certainly hope so. I would not like to think that we would lose touch.”

“Aww….you know the Warden. This’ll blow over in a few weeks and then he’ll get you back,” Goniff said optimistically. “He knows you’re the best con man in the business.”

Actor turned to face the second-storey man with a smile. “Yes, Goniff, I am sure that you are right.”

Only Chief saw the knuckles on the hand holding the pipe turn white, the flash of despair in Actor’s eyes before he plastered the smile on his face and turned around. Actor was lying. Trying to make the goodbye easier on them all. He didn’t expect to come back.

“Now if you would excuse me, I should make a start on my packing.”

“You want some help?" Goniff asked kindly. "You got an awful lot of stuff, what with all them uniforms.” Concerned about his friend, the little thief wanted to help, but wasn’t sure how.

Casino clearly felt the same way. “Hey, there are some empty boxes in the storeroom. Big ones. You want we fetch those for you?”

Actor was touched by their concern and accepted their offers, if only so that they would go away. He did not know how much longer he’d be able to maintain the charade. A wave of despair broke over him as he watched the two men leave. He hadn’t realised how hard leaving was going to be. He would miss them.

“I’ll try and keep him safe for you.”

Chief’s quiet words almost broke him. “I know you will,” Actor replied hoarsely. “Thank you.”

“Warden ain’t no fool, Actor. He’ll come round. Just gonna take time.”

“I wish I could believe you,” the handsome Italian murmured, all trace of artifice gone. “But I really don’t think that he will.”

“Man’s crazy about you,” the Indian said solemnly.

“But what is love when set against honour?” Actor countered.

“You got honour. Got guts too.” A sudden realisation struck Chief. He walked over to stand in front of the con man and looked him directly in the eyes. “You didn't tell him, did you?”

Actor returned his gaze levelly and shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because while he is blaming me, he is not blaming himself. He already carries enough guilt and responsibility. It is better this way.”

Chief's eyes narrowed. “Not for you.”

“He is alive. That is enough for me.” 

The young scout held his gaze. “Gonna miss you, man.”

“As I will miss you, Chief,” Actor acknowledged softly. He smiled briefly at the youngest member of his soon-to-be former team and strode swiftly from the room, his throat suddenly constricted and his vision blurred with unshed tears.

Chief watched him go with sadness and an acute sense of loss. He liked Actor - trusted and respected him. He knew that, without the Italian, Garrison wouldn’t be happy.

And that worried him a lot.

That could get them all killed.

**Two weeks earlier**

 

A pretty WAC officer ushered the captain into Colonel Edwards’s office, then closed the door behind her.

“At ease, Captain Foley. Take a seat.”

The captain did as requested.

“Drink?” asked the colonel, walking over to a side table and lifting the stopper of his whisky decanter.

“No, thank you, sir.” The junior officer settled into one of the two large armchairs standing in the bay window of the office.

Pouring himself a small scotch, Edwards settled into the second chair. “So, Mike, how’s Actor doing?”

“Man’s a genius at what he does, Colonel. I’ve never seen anything like it. He could sell snow to the Eskimos. Put him in any situation, ask him to play any role and he is utterly and totally believable.” Foley lent forward in the armchair and smiled broadly. “The first time he played a Gestapo agent he scared the shit outta me and I knew he was only acting.”

Edwards contemplated his glass to hide his amusement. “Reliable?”

“Totally. And adaptable. The man’s got a mind like a steel trap. He doesn’t miss a thing. When the Leipzig mission went up the Swannee, it was only his quick thinking that got us out.”

“Is he a team player?”

Foley frowned. “Not exactly, sir. During missions, yes, but off them, not at all. On a mission he’s a fine team-player, working well with the rest of the team and supporting them fully. He’s also a damn fine medic. Back home, he doesn’t mix with them at all, even though one of my boys is ivy-league and shares many of his interests like the opera and art…”

He thought for a while. Colonel Edwards waited.

“At first I thought it was because we were regular army and he wasn’t. Now I’m not so sure. It’s like he’s keeping us at a distance. Doesn’t want us to become his friends.”

“A loner then?”

“Not with all the company he keeps. Reckon we’re just the wrong sex. Actor’s got a girl in every city and every one of them is beautiful. I know, I’ve seen some of them.”

“What does he think of you?”

Foley looked slightly embarrassed. “You know Colonel, I have no idea. He’s always polite and attentive when I talk to him, but I don’t know if that’s just another act.“ Shaking his head, the young man admitted, “I can’t read him, sir.”

“So, you wouldn’t consider him to be your friend?”

“No, sir, though I think he’d be a damn good friend to have. I kinda get the feeling he’d move heaven and earth for a friend if they asked him to and he’s resourceful enough to be able to do it, too.”

“Could he work independently?”

“Sure he could. He’s made suggestions that are brilliant in their inception and outrageous in their audacity but he’s got the guts and the talent to pull those capers off. If I’m honest, Colonel, there are times when I think he’s wasted in my team. Our remit just isn’t broad enough for what Actor is capable of.”

 _Sounds like a first lieutenant I know_ , Edwards thought wryly. _No wonder Actor and Garrison made such a formidable team._

“Trustworthy?”

“Yes, sir. I’d trust him with my life. Hell, I have done, and with the lives of my team.”

The comment struck a chord with Edwards. _How one man’s virtue could become another man’s vice..._

“Any reservations about his commitment?”

“None, sir. If he’s given a task to do, no matter how impossible it may seem, he’ll get it done somehow.”

“Is he ambitious?”

“No, sir. He’s older than the other guys in the team so naturally some of them look up to him, especially when the team’s been split. But every time I’ve tried to put him in a command-position before a mission, he’s declined it - politely, respectfully, but very firmly - declined it.”

“Why do you think that is?” Edwards probed.

“Well, it certainly isn’t because he can’t do it. He can, and on occasions like the Leipzig mission, he has. It’s like he’s decided what his place is and he’s sticking to it, come Hell or high water. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s keeping his nose clean and marking time.”

Foley regarded his Colonel. “Permission to speak candidly, sir?”

 _Here it comes_ , thought Edwards. Foley was no fool. “Granted.”

“It’s like he did something wrong, got caught, and got sent to my team as a punishment. Now he’s serving out his sentence as quietly as he can, not rocking the boat, and waiting to be released so he can go back to whatever he was doing before he came to me.”

Edwards said nothing.

“Does that make any sense, sir?”

Edwards felt his officer deserved a little honesty in return. The colonel had not mentioned Actor’s criminal past to Foley, nor said anything about his previous participation in Garrison’s team. “Yes, it does. And for the record, Mike, I think you’ve read Actor pretty well.”

“I’m not going to be keeping him for much longer, am I, sir?” There was genuine regret in Foley’s voice.

Edwards smiled. “No, Mike, I’m afraid you won’t. A week, maybe two. I need him elsewhere.”

“I’ll be real sorry to lose him.”

 _And I know someone who’ll be very pleased to get him back,_ thought Edwards.

  


**One Week earlier**

  


They’d just returned from a successful mission and Garrison couldn’t sleep, still too high on the adrenaline rush. Checking that the blackout curtains were securely in place, he switched on his desk lamp and started working through the sheaf of paperwork that has accumulated in his in-tray during his absence.

Most of the missives were routine and, to his mind, unimportant. He laughed out loud at the one stipulating the need to regularly lecture his men on the responsible use of prophylactics.

 _Oh, I’d never hear the end of that one from Casino,_ he mused, _though it'd be worth it just to see the look on Actor’s face…_

He pulled himself up sharply, waiting for the familiar pain to wash over him before continuing with the paperwork. Actor was no longer part of the team. Why the hell was he taking so long to come to terms with that?

“You’re tired,” he said to himself. “Tired and lonely.“

 _And a fool,_ he thought. _He didn’t want you to die. If the positions had been reversed, you’d have done the same thing._

One report in particular caught his eye, as it had a hand-written note from Colonel Edwards attached to it. The note read:

“Time for the prodigal to return?”

The missive to which it was attached was a report from a resistance group in France.

Garrison’s mouth went dry. Pushing himself out of his chair, he walked over to the filing cabinet, opened one of the drawers and pulled out a near-empty bottle of scotch. Frowning at it, he emptied the bottle into a tumbler and then returned to his desk. He put the glass down on the desktop and picked up the report once more and began to read.

“After the crash of an allied aircraft in a nearby field, SS Major Erich Müller accused the villagers of ~~XXXXXXX~~ of harbouring the downed airmen. He took ten of the townspeople hostage and threatened to shoot them if the airmen were not turned over to him. The airmen surrendered themselves before the deadline set by Müller had expired. Müller shot the airmen and the hostages.”

“Oh, Christ.”

Garrison felt sick to his stomach. He looked at the scotch in the tumbler and angrily thrust the glass away, only to have it overturn and dispense its contents over the papers on his desk. Cursing, he snatched them up, then looked around for something to mop up the spill with, finally resorting to his handkerchief when he could find nothing more suitable. When the damage had been repaired, he picked up the report again.

For the longest time he just held it in his hands, his eyes unfocussed, lost in the memories of the events that had transpired on a French roadside a lifetime before.

Then he rummaged in his desk drawer, withdrew a transfer request and began to fill it in.

  


**Four days earlier**

  


“Craig, I can’t stress enough the importance of this mission. Those documents are vital to the war effort and years of planning have gone into them. What is contained within them could turn the tide of the war and if the Germans get their hands on them, it could lose us the war and that is no exaggeration. They cannot be allowed to fall into enemy hands. I’m giving this task to you because you are the best I have, but I need to know that you’re up to the task. Are you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And your team?”

Garrison hesitated.

“Son?” Edwards prompted, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Colonel, it’s Face. It’s not anything he’s said or done; he’s always performed adequately. I’ve just got a bad feeling about him. Call it a gut instinct. I’m not sure I'd trust him with something this big.”

 _“Performed adequately,”_ thought Edwards. _That’s a little short of 'a genius at what he does.'_ “Not like you trust Actor, eh?” he asked quietly.

Garrison focused on a spot on the wall over the Colonel’s shoulder and tried to remember how to breathe. “No, sir.”

“I’m sorry, Craig. I can’t get him back in time for this one. He’s on a mission and not due back until tomorrow. This can’t wait.”

Garrison nodded, fighting to keep the disappointment from his voice. “Understood, sir.”

“Do you want me to scrub Face from the mission?”

Garrison thought briefly before answering. “No, sir. If the Germans already have the documents and we need to pull a con to get them back, I’ll need him. There’s no time to bring in someone new to the team. Face is also the only other person on the team who speaks French and German. If anything happens to me, you’ll need him to get the others back.”

If anything happened to Garrison, Edwards very much doubted that the others would leave him to _come_ back. Not after that previous affair in France. The Colonel was in no doubt that, whilst the Lieutenant might consider himself to be expendable, his men certainly did not. If anything, the original Gorillas had become even more protective of their lieutenant since Actor had left the team.

“Craig, for your own safety, don’t read, or let any of your team read, the contents of the file. Do I make myself clear?”

 _Very clear_ , thought Garrison. He’d been doing this job long enough to know that Edwards didn’t want to have to order his death, or the death of any of his team, in the event that they were captured. Only marginally less damaging to the Allies then the documents falling into German hands would be if an agent who had seen them was captured and then tortured into revealing their contents. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “I understand completely.”

“Now, about that transfer request you submitted.”

“Sir?” Garrison’s eyes fixed on the Colonel’s face.

“I’ve approved it. After this mission, Face is off your team. I’m giving Actor back to you.”

Garrison stared again at the spot on the wall over the Colonel’s shoulder and let none of the myriad of emotions he was experiencing show on his face. “Very good, sir.”

Then,

“Thank you, sir.”

***

“I can’t stress enough how important these documents are. We have to find them and destroy them. Failure is not an option.”

Garrison flicked off the projector as he concluded his mission briefing. “Chief?”

The Indian swung down off the table where he’d been perched and switched on the room lights.

“Any questions?”

“What’s in these documents that makes them so special?” The question came from the team’s confidence man, a slender man in his late forties with a distinguished face and greying temples.

“I’m sorry, Face, I can’t tell you that, but they’re important and we have to destroy them.”

Again, the man known only as Face spoke up. “If they’re that important, why don’t they want them brought back?”

“Cos they don’t want Jerry getting his grubby little mitts on them, obviously,” Goniff answered around his cigarette. “Ain’t that right, Warden?” The little thief looked pleased with himself for having reasoned this out before Face.

“Can it, Goniff!” snapped Chief. Face’s questions were having a disconcerting effect on him.

“Hey! What’s up with you?” Goniff asked, aggrieved. Chief scowled at him.

“That’s enough.” Garrison’s quiet voice silenced both men.

Face spoke again. “How do we get out?”

“I’ll give you details of our escape route once we get to Italy,” Garrison replied. Looking around at the faces of his other team members, Garrison asked, “Any more questions?” None were forthcoming. “OK, we ship out in an hour. Get your gear together.” As the members of his team filed out of the room, Garrison started to put away the projector. He felt, rather than heard, Chief come to stand behind him.

“I don’t trust him.”

Garrison didn’t have to ask for a name. This was not the first time they’d had this particular conversation. “Chief, we’ve been through this before. Just because you don’t like the man doesn’t…”

“Got a bad feeling, Warden.”

 _That makes two of us_ thought Garrison. He’d learned a long time ago to trust Chief’s instincts. The Indian had a sixth sense for trouble and his hunches were inevitably correct, but he couldn’t share his concern with Chief now, not when they had a mission to accomplish. He turned to look at the youngest member of his highly unusual team. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, this is the last mission Face’ll be on.”

The Indian’s head snapped round, dark eyes flashing. He looked at his commander intently.

“We’re getting Actor back,” Garrison finished.

“When?” Chief wanted to know.

“After this mission. Colonel Edwards told me this morning.”

“You still mad at him?” Chief asked quietly, his expression unreadable, his gaze searching.

“No, though he’s got every reason to be mad at me,” Garrison replied with a rueful smile.

Chief grinned back. “Saw Actor last week. He didn’t say nothing then. Guess Edwards ain't told him yet.”

“I guess not.” Garrison agreed. He hadn’t known that any of his team had had contact with Actor since he’d left. _Since I sent him away._

“You gonna tell the others?”

Garrison knew Chief meant Casino and Goniff. He’d never accepted Face as one of the team. “After the mission. Face doesn’t know either but we need him for this one.”

Chief nodded once and turned to go, but Garrison called him back. “How was he?” Garrison asked softly. He couldn’t look the other man in the eye.

Chief eyed his commanding officer impassively. “Lost weight. Wasn’t sleeping. Looked unhappy.”

Then,

“Sound familiar?”

Garrison felt in his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it and took a long drag before replying. “Yeah,” he sighed softly. _Sounds like me._

Chief took a deep breath and stared out of one of the windows. It was clear to his C.O. that he was wrestling with something, working something out in his mind. Garrison watched him in silence. If Chief wanted to tell him what he was thinking about, he’d do it in his own time. No point in trying to push. He took another pull of his cigarette.

After long moments, Chief spoke. “Somethin’ you should know, Warden,” he said slowly.

After the Indian again lapsed into silence, Garrison prompted gently. “Chief?”

“Actor was gonna give himself up instead of you.“ He looked back at his C.O. “Francois turned a gun on him. Said he’d heard stories about Müller. Said it wouldn’t do no good.”

Garrison’s face lost all colour. _The things he’d said to Vittorio! The terrible things he’d accused him of…_

Chief pushed him towards a chair and sat him down before he fell down. 

“Why didn’t he tell me?" Garrison murmured. He rounded on his scout. "Damn it, Chief! Why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

The young Indian was unabashed in the face of his commander's anger. “He said while you blamed him, you wouldn’t blame yourself, and you already had enough to worry about.” Then, with more than a little annoyance, “And you never asked me.”

Garrison dragged a hand through his cropped blond hair, his mind reeling.

“Actor’s a good man, Warden. Reckon you owe him an apology when we get back.”

“Yes, I do, Chief,” Garrison agreed. “I just hope he’ll listen.”

  


** Three days earlier **

  


Chief, Garrison and the partisan called Stefano looked down through the foliage onto the shattered fuselage of an aircraft and watched as German soldiers swarmed over it.

“They arrived shortly before you did,” Stefano explained.

Garrison swore softly. “Any survivors?”

“I think not,” Stefano replied. “They brought out the bodies first. Three of them. The soldiers have been removing things from the aircraft ever since.”

Garrison knew that only three men had been on board, which ruled out the possibility that someone had been able to bail out with the plans before the plane crashed. “Do you know where they’re being taken to?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” answered the partisan. “One of my men followed them. They are being taken to the building where the local Kommandant has his headquarters.”

“We’d better get moving,” Garrison said. “We need to get those documents back before anyone has a chance to read them.”

Easing back through the undergrowth, they made their way to where they had left the rest of their party. Face, Casino, Goniff and two more partisans moved forwards to meet them, keen to learn what they had discovered. The other members of Garrison’s team were already dressed in German uniforms, Face wearing the insignia of an SS major, the black uniform lending a particularly sinister air to his appearance. Chief, Casino and Goniff were all dressed as members of the Wehrmacht.

As he fastened the buttons on his SS captain’s jacket, Garrison talked the team through his plan. “We’ll keep this simple. Face and I will feed them a line about the passenger being an SOE agent. We’ll ask to see the bodies and then anything that has been removed from the wreckage. While Face runs interference, I’ll go through the paperwork. As soon as I get the documents, I’ll signal to Chief.”

He looked up the partisan leader.

“That’ll be your cue, Stefano. You’ll place an anonymous call to the Kommandant’s office to say that an incendiary device has been planted in the building. With luck, that’ll trigger an evacuation and we’ll just walk out with everyone else. As soon as we’re in the clear, I’ll destroy the documents and then we can all go home.” He looked at his men. “All clear so far?”

“As crystal, baby,” Casino replied. “Should be a cake walk. If you don’t have anything for me to do, I’ll catch up on some sleep.”

Garrison smiled at him. “You keep watch on the front of the building. This time you’re the muscle.”

“And I thought you'd just brought me along for my looks,” the safe cracker said with mock reproach.

“Nah,” quipped Goniff, “that’s why we brought Chiefie.” He made sure that both Face and the Warden were between him and the young Indian, then smiled disarmingly at him. Chief shot the second storey-man a black look but said nothing before resuming his surveillance of the clearing. 

The Warden continued to outline his plan. “Goniff, I want you up on the roof. If we can’t get the documents out the front door, we may have to get them out by going upwards. If that happens, try and stay off the ground – and don’t take any chances. Work your way across the roof and as soon as you’re safe, destroy the documents then head back to the rendezvous point. We’ll meet up there. Okay?”

Goniff nodded vigorously. “Sure Warden.”

“Chief?”

The young Indian turned his gaze on his commander.

“You’ll be our driver. Stefano has 'borrowed' a staff car for us. Once in town, you watch the rear of the building and wait for my signal.”

With a brief nod, Chief went back to surveying the surrounding area, eyes constantly searching for any sign of danger.

“Any questions?”

None were forthcoming. Garrison pulled on his gloves.

“Let’s move.”

 

***

  


Gaining access to the building proved every bit as straightforward as Garrison had hoped it would be. The local Kommandant, Major Kessler, was an accommodating man who looked well on his way to retirement. Garrison suspected that the man owed his current posting more to his service record in the previous war than in the current one, nevertheless, he was grateful when the man accepted their story without demur and gave their papers only the most cursory of glances. Kessler seemed both shocked and disconcerted by the appearance of the SS men and Garrison wondered idly what it was that the man had to hide.

It was, to Garrison’s mind, with something akin to relief that Kessler showed both men first to the storeroom where the bodies of the dead allied airman had been laid out, and then to another room where the items removed from the downed aircraft had been placed. Garrison positioned himself in front of a window and looked down into the street. Casino was leaning against a wall, having a cigarette. Seeing Garrison at the window, the safecracker acknowledged Garrison's presence with a seemingly innocuous gesture and then ambled off towards the back of the building to tell Chief. Garrison knew that by the time he came to give the signal to leave, it would be Chief, not Casino, waiting in the street below. Turning back to face the other occupants of the room, he nodded once, very slowly, to the con man. Taking his cue from Garrison, Face ordered his aide to begin sifting through the contents of the room and then steered the Major back to the temporary mortuary, saying that he wished to examine the bodies of the allied airmen more closely. Deferring to the wishes of the SS man and telling him that he hoped he had a strong stomach, Major Kessler dutifully followed him.

Garrison started working systematically through the boxes in the room. Colonel Edwards had been very specific about how he would recognise the particular documents he had to destroy. Reasoning that if there had not been time to destroy them on the plane, there might still have been time to hide them, he quickly checked any object large enough to conceal a dossier.

His breath caught as he opened the first aid kit from the plane. The contents were in complete disarray, as though they’d been dumped out hurriedly and then replaced with no care given to their placement. Making sure that his actions were not being observed, he eased up the corner of one of the field dressings at the bottom of the metal tin and saw a manila folder beneath. Heart racing although he gave no outward sign of it, he moved the field dressing aside. On the cover of the folder was a single word – the word Edwards had told him to look for.

OVERLORD

Garrison closed the tin carefully and put it down before moving on to the next box and searching through it methodically. Turning to the only other occupant of the room, a Wehrmacht clerk who was meticulously cataloguing the contents of the boxes, he complained of a headache and asked if the other man could fetch him some aspirin and a glass of water. The man almost ran out of the room in his eagerness to obey.

Garrison quickly retrieved the folder from the first aid kit and tucked it inside his jacket. Moving to the window, he opened it and leaned out, as though taking a breath of fresh air. Chief was watching him from the street below. Garrison gave the signal and Chief turned on his heel and set off nonchalantly down the street, his stride long and easy. Leaning one hand on the windowsill and holding his head in the other, Garrison was a picture of misery when the clerk returned with the requested medication. Murmuring his thanks, Garrison swallowed the tablets and drained the glass then, sighing, pushed himself away from the window and resumed his careful scrutiny of the contents of the next box. Barely five minutes had passed before a klaxon began to sound and a voice came over the tannoy ordering the immediate evacuation of the building.

“Is this a drill?” Garrison asked the clerk. The man shook his head, saying he did not think so, and started edging towards the door. “Come on then,” Garrison said briskly. The clerk needed no further encouragement and hurried out of the room and down the corridor. Garrison followed at a more moderate pace, as befitted a man of his rank.

He had almost reached the stairwell at the end of the corridor when he heard a sound behind him. As he turned, a shot rang out.

***

Garrison felt the sickening impact of the bullet as it struck his thigh and then his entire leg was engulfed in agony. Unable to stand, he collapsed to the floor, his hands tightly clenched over the source of the pain. Fighting the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm him, he twisted around painfully to look down the corridor.

Face was walking towards him, a smoking luger held in his hand and trained unerringly on his erstwhile commander’s chest. “Always was a lousy shot,” the man said as he approached. Garrison wrestled to release his own gun from its holster but it was trapped under his body and his hands were slick with blood. Face got to him before he could do so. Pistol-whipping Garrison across the face, the con man retrieved Garrison’s weapon and then quickly moved himself out of range of the commando’s lethal hands.

“Hand over the documents, Garrison.”

Garrison stared at him in disbelief. “Why?” he asked, his voice tight with pain.

“I figure that if they’re as important as you say, the Germans will be happy to pay me a substantial sum of money for them. I intend to sit out the rest of this war in comfort. Call it – re-negotiating my contract with the Army.” The confidence man smiled malevolently.

Garrison looked around for something he could use as a weapon, anything so that Face did not get his hands on the plans.

“Now, don’t you try anything heroic, Lieutenant. I’ve already told Kessler about your little plan. Right now he’ll be sending men to round up your team. Which reminds me…I must tell him about Goniff. The old fool will never think to search the roof. It…”

Face’s words were cut off with a choking gasp. Staring down in shocked disbelief, he gazed at the blade protruding from his chest and collapsed to the floor, his last breath rattling in his throat.

“Shame you didn’t think to search the stairs,” drawled Chief as he stepped from the shadows to retrieve his knife.

***

Chief knelt next to the Warden, took one look at the heavily bleeding leg and wrapped an arm around the man’s waist. Drawing one of the Warden’s arms across his shoulders, he lifted Garrison off the floor but, even with his help, Garrison could not stand. Agony surged through the injured officer’s leg and he groaned in pain before sinking back down to the floor.

“Leave me,” he ordered hoarsely. “Take the plans and destroy them.”

The arm remained firmly around his waist. “Ain’t leaving you, Warden,” Chief said firmly.

“You have to!” gritted Garrison. Already his vision was starting to blur. “I can’t make it and these plans could lose us the war.” He struggled inside his jacket and withdrew the dossier, thrusting it into Chief’s hands. He watched as the conflicting emotions warred on the younger man’s face. “They don’t know about Goniff so the roof is probably clear. Go that way. Take the documents. Destroy them.” He clenched his teeth against the mounting pain and fought the encroaching darkness.

“Ain’t leaving you,” Chief reiterated.

“You have to,” Garrison whispered hoarsely. “Look, I know you don’t want to leave me, but this is too important. You have to destroy the documents. You have to go.” Still the Indian hesitated. Garrison grasped his wrist and pulled him close. “Damn it, Chief! You never let me down before! Don’t do it now!“ He saw the emotion flicker in the younger man’s eyes and he knew that he had won.

Gunfire crackled outside the building. Shouted commands. Chief stood up and tucked the file inside his jacket. “Warden...” he started.

“Tell Actor,” Garrison whispered, fighting to stay conscious. “Tell him he was right.”

Pain-racked green eyes locked with anguished onyx ones.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

“I’ll tell him, Warden,” Chief promised softly.

“Now go!” Garrison ordered, barely conscious.

He watched as Chief silently slipped back into the shadows taking the precious plans with him. His duty discharged to country and friend, Garrison pitched slowly sideways and let the darkness take him. His last thought before he passed out was of Actor.

_I’m sorry, Vittorio. Forgive me._

***

Chief leant on the mantelpiece and gazed down at the flames that flickered and danced in the grate in front of him, anxious for the return of the partisan leader and at the same time dreading it.

Casino was asleep in an old armchair, his arm wrapped in bandages where a bullet had grazed it. Although the wound was more messy than dangerous, it had nevertheless required stitching and the safe cracker would not be able to use the arm without pain for several days.

Goniff sat next to his friend and his face was also pained. In the escape over the rooftops, a loose tile had almost resulted in him slipping off the roof and falling to the street below and he’d had to jam his foot into a gutter to halt his progress, wrenching his knee badly in the process. Although nothing was broken, the knee was badly swollen which made walking both difficult and painful.

“I get you anything?” Chief asked him softly. Goniff smiled up at his friend. “No thanks, mate, I’m good.”

Goniff's brow creased into a frown. Chief was taking this badly. “You okay, Chiefie?” When the Indian did not reply, he said gently, “You only did what the Warden told you. You didn’t have a choice.”

Chief stared back into the fire. “Yeah, I did,” he said softly.

The door of the safe house swung open and Stefano entered, shaking off the rain that clung to his hair and coat. Chief sheathed the blade that had found its way into his hand without conscious thought and stepped towards the man. “You get through?”

Stefano nodded, shedding his coat and moving to warm his hands in front of the fire. “I spoke with London. They are sending a specialist. He will arrive tonight. We need to make preparations for his arrival.”

Chief didn’t need to ask the name of the specialist that London were sending. He already knew who it’d be. Had done from the moment he’d turned his back on the injured Warden and walked away.

He just didn’t know how he was going to face him.

 

**That morning**

 

“Looks like we got us a welcome committee, Cap’n.“

Captain Mike Foley looked out through the door of the DC9 as it completed its taxi to one of the hangers at Archbury airfield and saw Colonel Edwards waiting for him on the tarmac.

“Sure hope that don’t mean we got another mission,” drawled Foley’s sergeant.

A groan went up from the rest of the team. Although their mission had been a success, their extraction had not, and they had spent the previous 36 hours dodging German patrols hell-bent on capturing them until alternative arrangements could be made to get them out. Now, all they wanted to do was shower and sleep.

Not necessarily in that order.

Even as the colonel returned the tired captain’s salute, his eyes were looking beyond the officer and towards his team and the hairs on the back of Actor’s neck stood up when the colonel’s gaze found and then held his own.

“Mike, I need to talk to Actor. In private, please.”

Actor stepped forwards and Foley gestured for the rest of his men to follow him to the debriefing room in the nearby Nissan hut. Seeing the strain showing on the colonel’s face, the worry in his eyes, Actor felt his stomach lurch. “How bad is it?”

Colonel Edwards sighed heavily before answering him. “Bad. Face double-crossed them during a mission. Casino and Goniff were injured but Chief and the partisans managed to get them away. They’re safe and Chief was unhurt. Garrison wasn’t so lucky. Face shot him in the leg and he was captured.”

Actor forced himself to ask the question. “Is he still alive?”

“Yes. The SS have him in their HQ in Pianaccio.”

“How long have they been holding him?”

Colonel Edwards hesitated for just a moment. “Three days.”

“When do I leave?”

** Present Day **

 

They had been driving for almost three hours. Chief had stopped counting the number of roadblocks and checkpoints they’d passed through. Each time they were stopped, Actor had presented his Gestapo warrant disc and brought his formidable talents into play. Each time they had been waved through without incident or question. Lightning crackled across the sky and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as their destination finally came into view. Chief slowed the car and then brought it to a stop. “How’s the Warden?” he asked as he helped Actor lift their stricken friend from the floor of the car.

“Still alive and, mercifully, still unconscious. I will know more after we get him inside and I have had a chance to examine his leg.”

Lifting Garrison into his arms, Actor set off towards the villa he’d inherited on the death of his father. Chief retrieved the key from behind the loose stone in the garden wall and opened the front door, following the big Italian as he made his way through the hall and then the salon and finally into the kitchen. Carefully, oh so carefully, Actor laid his blanket-wrapped burden on the large wooden table. Leaning the pack he’d been carrying against one of the table legs, Chief started filling pans with water and setting them on the stove to heat.

“Bring sheets and towels,” Actor said softly, his eyes never leaving the man lying before him. Cutting away the last of Garrison’s soiled clothing, he began re-arranging the blanket to uncover Garrison’s injured leg.

Chief nodded once and left the room.

Surveying the tattered remnants of the shirt tied around his lover’s thigh, Actor drew a shaky breath and found himself praying to the deity he had stopped believing in so many years before.

_Please God, let me not be too late._

With hands that were shaking, Actor unwrapped the makeshift bandage from Garrison’s leg. Peeling it carefully away from the wound, he was shocked by what was revealed.

"Jesu, Maria!"

The wound was angry and raw, a yellow crust around the ragged edges, the centre filled with foul-smelling pus. Angry streaks of red trailed from the wound up Garrison’s leg. Actor gently probed the stricken man’s groin, feeling for the lymph nodes there and finding them hard and swollen by the infection. He carefully inspected the wound, looking for the tell-tale blisters and sweet odour of gangrene - blisters that would confirm that he had saved Garrison from a swift death by firing squad only to condemn him to a slow, agonising one instead.

“Jesus Christ!” Unable to contain his shock or horror, Chief’s words were barely audible as he came to stand by Actor’s side, the requested sheets and towels forgotten in his arms. Actor had never, ever, heard the Indian use that phrase before, and under different circumstances he would have remarked on that fact. As it was, all he said was, “There’s no sign of gangrene. He still has a chance.”

Chief continued to stare in horror at the wound, then, with a visible effort, he dragged his gaze back to Actor’s face. “How can I help?”

In an unnaturally calm voice that he barely recognised as his own, Actor told him. 

“We must drain the wound of infection and then clean it. It cannot be allowed to close until the infection has been removed. Colonel Edwards gave me penicillin which will help fight the infection, then we must try and break the fever. After that, we will have to wait. It will be up to the Warden then.”

“He gonna lose that leg?”

Actor paused and shook his head slowly, his expression pained.

“I don’t know, Chief. I hope not. But I really do not know.”

***

 

The hours that followed were hell for them all.

Actor unpacked the medical supplies he had brought with him from England. Disinfecting his hands thoroughly with soap and alcohol, he administered the first of the precious penicillin injections and then set to work on Garrison’s leg.

Wiping the skin around the wound liberally with iodine, Actor used swab after swab to clean out the infection. Using forceps that had been sterilised in boiling water he meticulously debrided the wound of dead flesh and the threads from Garrison’s clothing that had been carried in by the bullet. Then he rinsed the wound thoroughly with hydrogen peroxide. Dusting the wound liberally with sulpha powder and packing it with gauze to help it drain, he finished up by placing a dressing over it to catch the exudate.

Chief stood silently at his side as he worked, attentive to Actor’s requests for assistance or equipment, giving the other man whatever he asked for, as quickly and efficiently as he could.

As he stepped away from the table, Actor sighed and stretched painfully, the muscles of his neck and shoulders protesting the movement. He washed his hands again with soap and alcohol and then stood by Garrison’s head. Very gently he laid a cool hand against the man’s flushed cheek. The skin was hot, far too hot.

Garrison moaned softly and tried to turn towards the pressure. Actor stroked his cheek and gentled him with soft words. “Sssh, caro, sssh. You are safe now. Rest now. Sleep. I will not leave you.”

Chief flinched at Actor’s quietly spoken words.

Garrison settled again.

Placing a bowl of warm water on the sideboard, Chief began carefully washing the filth of captivity from his commander’s body, the grim expression on his face at odds with the gentleness of his actions. “Figure he’ll rest easier, after,” Chief murmured. He could not bring himself to look at Actor. For a long time he tried to lose himself in his task but his mind refused to allow him respite. Endlessly he revisited the events preceding the Warden’s capture and played out scenarios that had not happened - but might have done - if only he’d acted differently.

_If he hadn't left him._

Actor watched as the unguarded emotions played over his young friend’s face. He knew how badly Chief had been hurt by what he had been forced to do, knew also how badly the young man must still be hurting now. Picking up a towel, he began to carefully dry Garrison’s body where Chief had washed it. “How did it happen?”

Chief’s shoulders sagged. He’d known that eventually Actor would ask him this question, had even thought some about what he would say when he did. Though he didn’t want to have to put it into words, he owed Actor the truth, knew that the Warden would want him to know, too.

_Ain’t gonna let the Warden down. Not again._

Taking a deep breath, Chief recounted the events of the ill-fated mission. Actor listened intently and allowed the man to talk without interruption.

“After Face was dead I tried to get the Warden up but he was hurtin’ too bad. He gave me the papers. Said I had to destroy them. Told me to go.” Fighting to keep his voice level, Chief continued. “Didn’t wanna leave him. But the Warden…he said it was real important to destroy them. Told me not to let him down.” He looked at the confidence man, his face anguished, and said wretchedly. “So I took the file and went. He was hurt so bad and I just left him there.” As if not believing himself, he repeated bleakly “I just left him there.”

“According to Colonel Edwards, those documents were every bit as important as the Warden told you they were. You did the right thing, Chief,” Actor reassured the young scout, before adding, “You had no choice and neither did the Warden.”

“Yeah, I did. I could’ve stayed.”

“Then the documents would have fallen into German hands and you would have failed the Warden and betrayed his trust in you.”

Chief was not ready to be convinced. “You didn’t leave him,” he said, looking up at the con man. Actor was shocked to see tears in the younger man’s eyes. “In France. You never left him.”

“Oh, Chief!” Actor said softly. “You cannot compare my actions to yours.” The despairing look on the Indian’s face told Actor that he could, and had, and had found himself wanting. “What you did, you did out of loyalty to the Warden. It was hard for you, but you still did it. That took courage. It was the right thing to do.” His own emotions so raw, Actor had to pause before he could continue. “What I did in France, I did for myself, because I could not bear the thought of living without him." Very softly, very sadly he added, “It was selfish and cowardly. You see, I did not think how it would be for him to have to live without me.”  


Chief shook his head. “You did it because you love him. You wanted him to live, even if it meant you’d lose him. Man, you were gonna die for him! Ain’t nothing cowardly about that! Don’t sell yourself short, Actor.” It was a long speech for Chief, and heartfelt, and the truth of the words stuck a chord that resonated within Actor’s tormented soul. His expressive brown eyes sought out Chief’s ebony ones.

“I won’t, Chief,” he replied quietly. “See that you don't either.”

Across the stricken body of the man who had come to mean so much to them, Actor and Chief found absolution from their guilt.

Nodding slowly, Chief spoke again. “Warden gave me a message for you. Said to say that you were right and he was sorry.”

Actor took a ragged breath.

“He was getting you back,” Chief said quietly. “Edwards told him just before the mission.” Seeing the pain on the handsome Italian’s face, he went on. “Warden was real pleased. Fell asleep on the plane smiling. He ain’t been sleeping much since you went.”

“Nor eating, it would appear,” Actor said softly, looking at the sunken cheeks and hard planes of his lover’s body. There wasn’t an inch of fat anywhere on the man. “He’s lost weight,” he murmured. Chief nodded in agreement.

“Didn’t much care about himself once you’d gone. Watched out for us, but not himself.”

Actor raised an eyebrow. Craig had always considered himself to be expendable, but not so his team. Seeing the look, Chief added, “Worse’n before.”

“That hardly seems possible,” Actor said wearily.

Chief finished bathing his commander and dropped the cloth back into the basin. Garrison moaned again and shifted weakly on the table. Laying down the towel, Actor regarded him affectionately and softly said, “I think we should get you a little more comfortable now, don’t you?”

He wrapped a clean blanket around Garrison’s body and carefully lifted the man into his arms. Cradling him like a child, he carried him upstairs and laid him gently down on the bed in the room they had shared on their previous visit. After covering his patient with the bedspread, Actor retrieved the thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the adjoining bathroom and took his lover’s temperature. He was appalled to see how high it was. Shaking down the thermometer, he sat on the bed beside the Warden and gently carded his fingers through Garrison’s baby-fine, blond hair.

Lost in thought, he did not hear Chief approach until the Indian lightly touched his shoulder. Turning to look at Chief, Actor shared his concern with the younger man. “I believe his leg is safe, but I am worried about the fever. His temperature is already up to 104 and the fever shows no sign of breaking.”

Chief tried to reassure his friend. “Warden’ll be okay, Actor. Got you to live for now. He’s tough. He’ll fight this.”

Actor sighed and shook his head sadly. “I am not so sure that he will.” Seeing the look on incomprehension on Chief’s face, he continued. “Major Weissing told Craig that he had gangrene. He told him that it was too late to save his leg. If he believes that, then I do not think that he will fight at all.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Not even for me.”

***

As the night drew on the storm worsened and so, too, did Garrison’s condition.

Fuelled by fever and morphine-induced nightmares, the officer tossed in pained delirium, moaning incoherently and oblivious to the attempts of his friends to comfort and calm him. As the storm raged outside, Garrison’s temperature soared. Neither Actor nor Chief would leave him, so they took it in turns to bathe his body with cool water and replace the damp cloth on his forehead. Twice, Actor rinsed out the wound in Garrison's leg with saline, packed it with fresh gauze, liberally sprinkled it with sulpha and replaced the dressing.

“You gonna give him some morphine?” Chief asked as he released the Warden’s shoulders. He’d had to hold the man down so Actor could work on his leg and Garrison had fought him with a fury that had shocked him. When the injured man’s reserves of strength had finally been exhausted, he had slumped back against the pillows, his face bloodless, and whispered, despairingly, just once,

“Don’t take my leg.”

A solitary tear had run down one fevered cheek. Very carefully, Chief had wiped it away with his thumb.

“He ain’t gonna last much longer, fightin’ like that.”

Actor sighed. “I know. Unfortunately, he still fears he will lose his leg and while he does so, he will not rest. Although I am loath to deny him relief from the pain, I cannot tell him that Weissing lied about the condition of his leg while he remains unconscious. I need him to wake up.”

Chief dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes with his palms. Wrung out by guilt and worry for his friend, he was well beyond the point of mere exhaustion.

As was Actor. Realising the senselessness of both of them staying awake, the con man said quietly, “Why don’t you try and get some sleep? I will call you if there is any change in the Warden’s condition.” Chief started to shake his head, but Actor continued, “We are both exhausted. If one of us does not get some sleep soon, neither of us will be in a fit state to help him.”

For once, Chief did not argue. “Ok, but just a couple of hours. You call me if you need help, okay?” he said tiredly.

Actor nodded. “Go.”

Chief rose stiffly from the bed, stretched his lean body like a big cat and made his way to the bedroom Actor had given him on their first visit to the villa. Not bothering to even remove his boots, he was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

Actor settled himself into the chair beside Garrison’s bed and gazed down at his lover tossing restlessly beneath the sheets and softly moaning his distress. Wearily, the con man picked up the cloth from the basin and wiped it gently over Garrison’s face and chest.

"Oh my love, would that I could take your place and spare you this agony."

Returning the cloth to the bowl, he placed a hand on his lover’s chest to reassure him before leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep when Garrison threw himself awake, screaming at the faceless shadows from his nightmare and crying out to them not to take his leg. Actor pulled the near-hysterical man into his embrace, throat constricting at the feel of the man’s rapid heartbeat against his chest and the sobbing breaths against his neck.

“Craig, it’s all right. No one will take your leg,” he soothed. “Weissing lied to you. There is no gangrene. Your leg will be fine. You are safe now.”

Garrison’s tried unsuccessfully to focus on the familiar voice. “Actor?” he said hoarsely, completely disoriented, not knowing where he was, why he was hurting so badly, or why he was so utterly terrified. He knew only that his lover was close and he wanted to go to him.

Desperately.

“Yes, my love. I am here. You are safe now.”

Garrison tried to turn towards the voice. Agonising pain stabbed through his body, radiating from his thigh and memory returned with terrifying clarity. “Oh God!” Garrison struggled frantically to free himself from the arms that restrained him. “Don’t let them take my leg!” His voice was panic-stricken.

Actor held him firmly. “Craig, your leg is healing. No one will take your leg. There is no gangrene.”

Still the panic and despair remained in his lover’s eyes and his body shook uncontrollably. Garrison searched his lover’s face, his plea a hoarse, pain-racked whisper. “Don’t lie to me!”

***

 

Actor felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach.

_Oh, Craig! You must believe me!_

“I swear to you, on the love I bear you, that I am telling you the truth. Weissing lied to you, Craig. There is no gangrene and you will not lose your leg.”

Chief threw himself into the room, having been awakened by the Warden’s cries, and caught the tail-end of Actor’s declaration. “Actor’s telling you the truth, Warden. Leg’s bad but Actor fixed it. Gave you penicillin and all. You ain’t gonna lose it.” Kneeling by the side of the bed, Chief brought his face close to Garrison’s so the man would see the truth of his words in his eyes. He’d never been able to lie to the Warden and both men knew it. “But you gotta fight the fever. You gotta get better. We need you, Warden.”

“I’ll be fine, Chief,” Garrison replied softly, responding as much to the despair in the younger man’s voice as to his actual words. The panic started to ebb from Garrison’s body, leaving him exhausted, but lucid. He looked around the room for the other members of his team.

“Casino and Goniff?” Garrison breathed painfully. The shivering was beginning to lessen and his breathing was becoming more even.

“They’re safe with the partisans,” Actor answered. “Casino’s arm was grazed by a bullet and Goniff wrenched his knee, but both of them will be fine.”

“The documents?” Garrison was relentless in his quest for information. And reassurance, Actor realised. Reassurance that his team was safe and the mission had been a success.

“I destroyed them, Warden, just like you said,” Chief answered.

"You did good." Garrison fixed pain-filled eyes on his youngest and added, remorsefully, “I’m sorry, Chief. I know you didn’t want to leave me behind.”

“S’okay, Warden,” Chief drawled softly, looking at the man with something very much akin to love. “Got you back. That’s all that matters.”

“Where are we?” Garrison asked. He let his head fall back to rest on Actor’s shoulder, his eyelids drooping closed.

“Actor’s place in Italy,” Chief replied. “We’re safe here.”

Garrison started to ask another question but was overwhelmed by a surging wave of agony from his injured leg. His face contorted in pain and he bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out.

“Chief?” Actor’s voice was low and urgent.

“On my way.” Chief headed out of the room towards the kitchen and the pack containing the morphine.

***

 

Actor eased the Warden more comfortably in his arms, stroking his cheek gently with one hand, his fingers softly tracing the curve of his lover’s jaw and the dimple in his chin. “Easy, my love. I have you now. Try to breathe through the pain,” he soothed, his voice rich and low and full of concern. Moving his hand down from the Warden’s face he gently stroked it over the man’s chest.

“Think I liked it better the last time we were here,” Garrison gritted through clenched teeth. “Don’t take advantage.” His soft laugh ended in an agonised groan.

Actor felt his heart breaking at his lover’s obvious distress and his equally determined attempts to reassure him by making light of it. “I won’t,” he conceded and pressed a kiss to the top of Garrison’s head. “Though you are always a temptation.”

“Hurts,” Garrison conceded, pressing his face into the shelter of his lover’s chest, eyes still shut. “Hot.”

“I know, beloved. Chief has gone to fetch the morphine and that will ease the pain. The penicillin will take effect soon and then the fever will break. Now that you are awake, you need to drink.”

Garrison’s eyes flickered open briefly and then closed again. “Chief told me what you were going to do in France. I’m so sorry for what I said to….”

“Hush, caro, sssh.” Actor soothed, interrupting the American’s apology. “I forgive you, so don’t worry about that now. Now, you must sleep and heal. We’ll have plenty of time to talk once you are well again.”

“I won’t want to talk then,” Garrison murmured plaintively. “I'll want to do other things with you.” His voice held a wistful tone.

“Warden, I am shocked!” Actor replied with mock reproach. “I thought you said I was not to take advantage of you!”

“Can’t help it. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it,” Garrison breathed. “Damn, I’m so hot.”

Actor pressed a glass of water to Garrison’s parched lips. “Here, drink this. You lost a lot of blood and this fever is not helping your condition. You are badly dehydrated and need to take in fluid.”

“Yes, Mother,” Garrison answered wearily, but he drained the glass nevertheless.

Actor promptly refilled it and insisted that Garrison drink some more. Laying Garrison back down on the pillows, Actor wiped his lover's face and chest with tepid water. Garrison sighed softly, the cool water feeling good against his fevered skin. “Do you want to see the wound before I give you the morphine?” Actor asked him.

Green eyes flushed emerald by fever fixed on the con man’s face. Garrison shook his head weakly. “No. It's okay. I believe you.”

Actor bowed his head at the trust this man had once again placed in his safekeeping. “Thank you,” he said softly as Chief re-entered the room. Taking the medical kit from Chief with a heartfelt word of thanks, Actor retrieved one of the morphine syrettes, briskly wiped the side of Garrison’s uninjured thigh with an alcohol swab, then administered the contents of the syrette with practised ease.

“You’re getting very good at that,” Garrison told him, his words starting to slur.

“Hardly surprising when you consider that I work for a man who believes himself to be expendable,” Actor retorted, “and apparently also bullet proof.” He discarded the empty syrette on the nightstand. When he turned back to look at Garrison, his lover was already asleep, the ghost of a smile playing over his handsome face. Sweat beaded his forehead and pooled in the hollow of his throat.

“Oh, thank God,” Actor said simply. Turing to look at Chief, his relief was evident in the smile on his face. “The fever is breaking.”

Chief smiled back. “He gonna be okay now?”

Actor nodded.

They were all going to be okay now.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> "Operation Overlord" was the Allied code name for the invasion of German-occupied Northern Europe during WW2 that began on 6th June 1944 with the D-Day landings.


End file.
